


Reprieve

by CheifHijinks



Series: Delusions AU [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A defaced bible, Blackwatch!Jack, Cowboy hat anchor, Delusions AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Guilt Trip, Liberal Supernatural elements, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Short Drabble, Some sad Jack, Stolen Kisses, Supernatural!Gabriel, odds and ends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-09-22 09:44:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9602270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheifHijinks/pseuds/CheifHijinks
Summary: A stash of scenes from the Delusions AU that I might repurpose for later, but don't really fit anywhere at the moment. Short or long, they all take place in the Delusions universe.****Since all the works can be read as stand-alones with continuity, I'll try to mark "spoiler" information in the notes rather than the tags.





	1. Short Comforts

**Author's Note:**

> An average night of the Blackwatch Commander and his wraith.

Jack lay on his bed. The room was closing in around him. His silent screams filled his head but it didn't drown out the accusations and yelling voices for help. Faces, unfamiliar and often disfigured, flitted in his eyes every time he closed them. Fearful then angry then grieving.

_Why? Why didn't you do something?_

He stared at the ceiling to not see those mourning faces again. Hands clasped the sheets in a tight vice grip, threatening to rip the fabric. He twisted and thrashed because if he kept still, he'd be pulled down, through the mattress like some horror cleché, only it wouldn't be instant and done by teeth. He felt the bites reopen. The contaminated wounds burned red hot against his body as he rubbed them. He felt hands grab his limbs, holding him down, a constant but weak pressure that was building. He continued to thrash erratically, trying to retain a semblance of control, but the hands held him tight. Dried blood. Many were missing fingers. Some were gloved in familiar leather. Fingerless. One had a gold ring. One was small and missing large parts of its palm.

_Your fault. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault._

The accusations grew louder, thundering in his ears. Several voices, all merging in a mob only slightly off tempo from one another.

_I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry._

Ringing apologies sounded empty to his own ears but they kept pouring from his lips. He kept pulling at his constraints but froze feeling hot breath on his skin. 

The predator.

Cruel. Unforgiving. _Justified._

The punctures were precise and persistant, fitting exactly into the old wounds and then some. They tore at his flesh, wringing a scream of pain from his lips. 

Memories flooded. 

Those faces resurfaced and he watched them all cry before his eyes, shouting and questioning.

_Why? Why? Why?_

The pain punctuated each question, ripping in random areas and piercing at others. He still faught against it but with weak will. 

He deserved this. 

He should've done more. He was a super soldier. He could've but he didn't. 

It was his fault. 

He should've done something. 

Something fell from his chest.

Body heavy, Jack managed to pull himself up, breathing hard as he felt the world pause. Nothing receeded, but gave him a cruel reprieve. The hands were only a featherlight touch, a reminder. His burning wounds still stung numbly, briefly stitched back up to be popped open again. The maws of his predator closed impatiently. The memories faded from his mind's eye. He looked around, slightly annoyed at the sheets twisted around his legs.

His room. His quarters. Blackwatch.

Something had fallen from his chest. 

His hands found the wide brim. McCree's hat. Someone had taken it before an op. The cowboy had to leave without it. Jack found it. He almost left it in his office, but it didn't feel right leaving it there. McCree was coming back tomorrow. Still panting, Jack picked up the hat. Well loved. A ridiculous design that only someone like McCree could pull off. The familiar emblem. He traced the metal, smooth. Cool against his fingertips. _Cool._

Cold. 

He was too hot, tired, and feverish.

It's too hot. 

He kicked off the blanket. _Too hot._ Why was it so hot? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pausing from disorientation. It was hot in here. 

It was never hot in here.

Where..? 

Shaking his head, Jack stood and steadied himself. He grabbed the hat and calmly walked through the door. 

His quarters were quiet. Why wouldn't it be? A glance at the clock read 0435 hours. Jack turned on the light and placed the hat gently on the counter. He grabbed a glass from the cabinet and turned on the faucet. Stained water came out. Grimy and tinted pink. He blinked but the water did not change. (Not that it would.) Jack let the water run into his glass. Bits of something floated lazily to his gaze as the pink liquid sloshed around. He paid it no mind, drinking the water in one go. It was sweet and pleasantly cold on his tongue. His hands felt wet. He noted the familiar slickness, a tinge of copper hit his nose. When he left the glass near the sink, it had red smudges on it. He paid it no mind just as he paid no mind to the red footprints he made along the pristine floor.

Jack eyed the bedroom wearily. He frowned before sitting on the couch and turning on the holoscreen. A wide display appeared, showing a late night ancient movie. A western. Jack walked back to the kitchen immedietely and returned, hat clutched tightly in one hand. He sat on the couch, watching the horse riding figures numbly as they shot at yelling feather dressed actors. He clutched the hat closely. Someone was creeping towards him silently. The jaws he left in the bedroom wouldn't give up that easily.

There was the whimper, another gasped question, followed by a mourning accusation. He couldn't deny them. He didn't turn to acknowledge them either. The predator crept closer. Jack curled in on himself, trying to focus on the gritty cowboy yelling on screen. A burning sensation on the back of his neck. He rubbed it. A brand renewed. Searing white hot. The thing crept closer. Jack didn't bother reaching for his sidearm under the coffee table. 

There was no point. 

He clutched the cowboy hat tighter. He'd have to apologize to McCree about the stains later.

There it was. 

Hot breath near that searing brand. He heard a growl. It's maw was open. He knew without looking. He was going to be devoured again. But this time, he wasn't sure if he'd make it out.

"I can't leave you for five minutes, can I Jack?"

The predator disappeared. The burning stopped. His aching body claimed exhaustion rather than fear and pain. Breathing still labored, the room was colder. He wasn't in the heat of battle any more. The accusing hands that attempted to pull him through the earth froze before shattering.

It was too cold for them. 

Jack laid back against the couch and groaned heavily. The hat was plucked away as a cold hand was laid on his shoulder. Jack grabbed the wrist immediately. Desperate. Pride be damned.

A sigh. Some mist. Cold arms encased in leather held him tightly. He burrowed into a broad chest, absent were the shells and armor that usually sat there. He breathed deeply. A stale scent. Familiar but still unnamed. Hot breath at his ear, not threatening but reassuring. Jack drank in the sensations, arms wrapping around the leather clad back and pulling tighter. 

He just needed _this._

If he had this, there was no room for his demons. He had his wraith.

"I'm here Jack," a cooing voice with a shushing tone. A gentle hand carding through his hair and massaging his scalp. "I'm here _cariño_. Everything is okay."

His face felt wet. A cold hand wiped away the tears. Cold lips on his eyelids, going down his cheeks to briefly meet his own.

Soft and plush. Here and now.

_With him._

He nuzzled unto the crook of his neck. His world shifted. He felt weightless. Comforted. Home. Truly home. Like the demons were just a bad nightmare but Jack knew they were waiting outside the door. They'd be back.

Jack felt the smooth sheets under him. He heard the clink of metal buckles and the loosening of belts and thick fabric as it tumbled to the floor. He curled onto his side, facing the wall.

The hands were gone. The voice was silenced. His bloody wounds were closed up again. The stains on his hand was missing. Everything was fine, but he felt something still gnawing at his heartstrings. A constant feeling he'd grown accustomed to, but in the small hours of the night, it was all he could focus.

At least,when he was alone.

Cold hands caught his attention. The click of the light. A muscular chest against his back as an arm wrapped around him. Cold. Jack turned to lay a cheek on that chest. Solid and strong. Freezing. It felt nice on his heated skin. A hand grappled with his own before their fingers were entwined. A kiss on his forehead and a smile on his lips.

"I got you _mí cielo_. Don't worry. I'm here."

Jack closed his eyes, exhaustion finally reaching him. A small smile still on his lips, he felt the world let out a sigh and calm around him, foiled for another day.

"Thank you," a quiet whisper as he relaxed in the embrace.

Jack had grown up on a farm in Indiana. The days were long and bright. The nights were cool and serene. It was a quiet life. Peaceful. He loved going out at night, by the pale light of the moon or sometimes by the screen of his phone. Chasing lightning bugs in the summer. Watching the snow fall gently in the stillness of winter. He loved it.

He loved the cold especially. There was always the seasonal holidays and the background cheer under all the grimaces of cold. Wearing the well loved coat to keep warm against the relentless winds. Defrosting by a roaring fire. The tingling numbness of his fingers and ears. He always ignored that feeling, gaining simple amusement from watching his puffed breath in the chilled air. He didn't endure the cold; he thrived. Surviving the cold was a testament of strength. The season brought people together, often huddled around the fire and for holiday spirit. Jack still loved the cold, but today, his associations lead to a different reason to shiver all together. 

Cold lips. Wet and hungry against his but also lovingly tender while soothing his senses. Cold hands with exploring fingers. Always tracing and wandering. Searching for the spot that made Jack react. Calloused and strong, yet gentle enough to calm him through the night. A cold chest. Broad, solid, and frozen like sleet topped asphalt. Inside was a heart that never beat, if it ever had or not anymore. Jack always took comfort against that chest. Sometimes he thought he felt it beat faintly. Other times it's just the rapid beating in his own. That cold presence. A man cold as death itself. He was a refuge, a home, and a haven all rolled into one.

With the nightmares at bay, Jack settled firmly against the other. Just like every other night, they lay together on his bed. The Swiss winter was always unforgiving, but the room wasn't heated to fight the chill. (Jack was too hot for it anyways.) No fever this time but a dream always is. No matter how long it's been, the fear of waking up to an empty bed surfaced in mind. But that wasn't the now.

Now was their bodies entwined. Jack stripped to his boxers and head pillowed on a naked chest. A cold arm wrapped around his shoulder and another around his waist. The man was like an icebox. The blanket was pulled over them. He was still cold, but Jack didn't mind. He lay there entrapped neither awake nor sleeping. A cold palm found his and their fingers entwined. A brush of chilled lips along his knuckles. He smiled.


	2. Mission.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A particular mission for Jack and his wraith. (Or I just wanted Jack to get stuck in a window.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to get this out of my system for some reason. It's pretty lackluster from usual, but hey, hopefully I can focus now.

It was a simple mission, a delivery. Low security. Certain files of a certain running mate which shouldn't fall into certain hands. And they weren't. Jack was going to hand them off personally. He was a _professional_ after all. 

Jack stood on the rooftop, staking out his meeting spot. A straight alleyway. No fire escapes. Clear brick on either side, void of any obsticles. He numbered the escape routes and possible sniper points. That would be a problem, which is why he staked out the meeting place before hand. 

He walked over and planted a grappling becon to the side of the roof. Kind of an odd approach but if things went sideways, which it usually did, it was always good to have an escape. He'd just have to hit one button to be propelled out of there. The research team thought it was a cleché joke but Jack was stubborn. He tested the mechanism. The metal claw shifted towards the becon and attached immedietely. He pulled the line. Taut. A cable strong enough to hold at least 3 men. He pressed another button on the grapple gun and felt a sharp tug in return. He was pulled toward the becon at a quick pace. With one more click, the cable stopped abruptly.

He nodded to himself and skimmed the building one last time. He could be cornered on both ends with no out but this. The buildings were abandoned,falling apart at the seams and scheduled to be demolished anytime soon. The becon had been placed in the wall thanks to a drill. Directly beneath it was a broken window covered with ply wood. He'd tested it earlier. It would no doubt break easily. Inside the room was extra gear, his pulse rifle, and a Com to alert anyone of his predicament if he couldn't handle it. A precaution. From there, he'd manuvor through the building towards the safe house. He nodded to himself, detaching the grappling hook and refitting it into the gun. Not new but not old either. He made sure to give it some maitenance beforehand at least.

"Nice toy."

Jack replaced the gun at his side and finished his preperations. It was cold.

"Going to James Bond your way out?"

"If I have to, yeah," he replied, grabbing his overcoat and side arm. A deep chuckle.

"Got a back up Jackie?"

"Always do," he quiped,heading downstairs to the steet. 

"Fucking finally you're learning."

"Fuck you," he whispered, pulling his ball cap lower.

"Maybe later," Reaper glided next to him. People didn't spare the wraith a glance but the people who walked by Jack took extra steps to be away from him. He was used to that but it would blow his cover. He pulled out an old cellphone.

"You mind?"

_'Not really. This better?'_

Jack felt it warm up a bit. People didn't walk five steps away anymore.

"Definately."

_So when's the pick up?_

Jack raised a brow. He always found it strange when Reaper needed reminding of the op details, as if he wasn't even paying attention, but maybe that was just his way of reminding himself about the op and focus on it. 

"You saw them?"

_'Pretty fucking obvious to not see them.'_

The men entered the cafe. They both ordered just coffee and sat two booths from Jack. Their eyes were shifty. They sat in a good view of the bathrooms, where Jack was. He continued to hold his phone to his ear.

"Nothing I can't handle," he remarked.

_'Don't be reckless Jack. They might have back up.'_

True. The pretty files on the chip were worth a hefty price, so he was told. Jack finished his coffee and threw the rest of the crosant away. Pocketing the phone once more, he went into the bathroom, feeling eyes follow him. Luckily, they didn't follow. Jack pulled out his side arm, counting to ten and back down to see if one would enter. Neither did so he withdrew his gun inspected the room. Normal metal stalls. Expectantly dirty. Urinals against the wall and sinks tinted with rust.

_'The window farm boy. Think you can fit?'_

Near the farthest stall was a panel window, the old tinted kind with a latch. It was a tight fit but he could probably make it. After one more quick examination of the room, Jack leaned against the stall door as he reached for the latch. Easy. The window opened out and had to be propped open. Great. Jack climbed the wall a bit higher, thankful that his boots didn't slide down the smooth surface. With a leap, he caught a grip and pulled himself towards the glass. The panel was thick, able to keep out the elements and it's weight was felt down Jack's back as he slipped through.

_Clink._

Shit.

_Clink. Clink._

He was _stuck_. Jack wiggled his hips, trying to pull himself free. They were on a ground floor thankfully, not a bad drop if he fell. Still, he shimmied, trying to free himself. Reaper laughed in his head, a deep sound that kindled Jack's irritation.

"Shut the hell up," he growled out, trying to identify the problem but the damn glass was in the way. His shoulders and chest were a bit of a squeeze but he didn't think his _ass_ of all things would get stuck. 

Evidently it wasn't.

His belt had caught on the latch. Cursing, he tried to bend back in some contorted way to free it. The old latch held firm as Jack fiddled with it, Reapers laugh and goading his only encouragement.

_'Always said you always get your ass in trouble. Never thought it would ever be because of your ass.'_

His fingers slipped on the metal bar again.

_'Take it as a compliment cariño. You got a nice one. Enough to get stuck in a window.'_

"You can help me, you know."

_'And do what? I'm just a wraith. Besides, you're a big boy. You can do it.'_

"Dick."

_'Can't keep your mind out of the gutter, can you?_

"I thought I told you to _shut the hell up_."

Frustrated, he finally went for the belt instead. Infinitely easier, the belt was undone and he was sent tumbling to the ground not so gracefully. He rubbed his head and checked himself over. Nothing broken just bruises on his arms and pride. Reaper's roaring laugh wasn't helping either. The fall was more than he thought but not too much. He checked for his belt. Shit. His side arm. At least the grapple gun remained. He eyed the window, wondering if he could possibly retrieve it.

_'Hey Indiana,you still got people after you. Remember?'_

Right. He had a spare at the safe house but he really liked that gun and holster. The gun and bullets would never be traced to Blsckwatch, markless. He made sure of that. Even still, it's missing weight unbalanced him. Reaper urged him along again and Jack continued. He felt for the knife slotted in his boot and tried to take comfort there.

Jack wandered the steets,double backing and taking winding turns. He glanced back every so often with Reaper's chiding at how suspicious it looked. After a while, he trudge along the streets at a casual pace, that the danger having passed. The wraith rambled about the city and its people, playing their game of telling what their lives must be like.

"Glasses guy."

_'Business guy at a low rank bank job. Lightweight and easy to manipulate. Running a debt just to keep his mistress happy. What about her with the backpack.'_

"College student by day, dancer at night. Having problems at her usual joint so she started branching into private business. The mom over there."

Hmm. Single mom. Angry and thinking their daughter is the next prima Donna of the world. Drags her through recitals and lessons all day and mocks her thinking it's encouragement.'

"Didn't know we were talking about you now."

_'Ass. Means you're my little princess though huh?'_

Jack smirked as they continued to the randevu point.

Jack entered the alleyway alone. His side arm was hidden beneath his coat, strapped to his thigh. The grapple was on the other. He gippled the box in his pocket. His palms were sweaty. 

A quiet deal.

He'd set up his equipment and checked the becon one last time before arriving. Leaning against the wall, he waited. Reaper was oddly quiet, only making casual remarks and complaining about punctuality every so often to remind Jack that he was still there.

At the end of the alleyway, a man approached. Tall, thick build, and smelling of grease. No visible arms. A mean look in his eye. Behind him, a clean cut woman walked with confident strides. Three piece suit. A dainty purse at her side. She approached and looked him up and down, eyes full of distain.

"You got the chip?" Her tone was clipped as she eyed him wearily.

"Ms. Audrey?" Jack retained his relaxed pose but eyed the two wearily. He scanned the alleyway. Nothing. For now. Just how much was this dirt worth?

The man shifted behind her, uncomfortable, ready to fight.

"Yes. And the chip?" Audrey was losing her patience. Too bad. Wrong contact.

"What chip?" Jack stood,body lax but ready.

A wry laugh as 'Audrey' motioned to pull pulled a gun out of her purse. But Jack already had his out.

 _'Typical,'_ he could hear Reaper roll his eyes.

"Give us the chip and this we might let you go," 'Audrey' smiled. The man behind her whistled. Jack watched their back up appear from both sides. Just as he expected.

Jack lowered his gun, the woman continued to hold hers. He motioned to reach into his pocket. He pulled out the grapple gun quickly.

_Clink._

Shots rang behind Jack as he broke through the window. He quickly grabbed his equipment and armed his pulse rifle. The exchange was compromised He sent a report to HQ for pick up before turning to the window. He plucked up the experimental visor. It clicked and the sudden jarring of his nervous system made him brace the wall.

_'You look like an idiot with that on.'_

"I think it's pretty cool. Besides, it's for function not _fashion_."

_'Like you'd know anything about that.'_

Jack clicked on the visor and went back to the window. Immediately, blips of information popped up right before his eyes. The targets below were marked along with other statistics in condition and recommended critical shots. He fired, half guided by the visor and half guided by his own instinct. Below, the grunts screams in pain as they fell. Non-lethal of course. (Clean up would be a bitch.) But enough to incapacitate. Shots aimed at him whistled by as he continued to fire unflinching. 

As the last man fell, 'Audrey' stared up at his widow, gun at her side. She glared at him, as if daring for him to fire.

"Not even worth the ammo," Jack remarked, retreating into the room. Another glance caught 'Audrey' leaving in a huff, her heels clacking as she stepped around the fallen grunts. Jack rolled his eyes.

"And you call _me_ dramatic," Reaper leaned over his shoulder, watching the street below.

"You used to randomly show up at midnight surrounded by smoke at the foot of my bed."

"I like to make an entrance."

Jack shook his head and started packing his stuff. He needed to leave before the authorities arrived and started trying to make connections. His comlink was blinking: a message for transport tomorrow morning. Shouldering his bag, he pocketed the visor, flinching as the neural link was severed.

"So are you just going to brood tonight or have some fun for once?" Reaper ghosted to his side, black clouds leaking from his form. Jack shrugged as he started out the winding maze of the abandoned building. He needed to pick up the beacon before leaving.


	3. Short Comforts.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Commander sleeps, the wraith wonders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, I got distracted by some Valentines stuff. I've finished chpt 2 for Reckless but there's still the editing. (ha)
> 
> *****Tbh I consider all Gabriel POV a spoiler but keep in mind that these segments may or may not be canon.

It was just like Jack: fuming and screaming at him one minute and then sniveling and trying to fight back tears the next. Not that Gabriel minded. He was always like that, and in a weird kind of way, it was endearing. Or that just proved how deep he'd fallen. 

He gently carded a hand through Jack's hair as the blond mumbled something in his sleep. A small grin appeared on his lips, eliciting a similar one from Gabriel. Jack was here, _safe_. That's all that mattered. 

There were grays peeking from the fine golden locks. Lines of age and exhaustion were under his eyes. 

Gabriel could do many things but not stop the inevitable. 

Some new scars were on his arm, along with some bandages. They'd be gone by morning but the sight burned him with anger and guilt. He caressed Jack's cheek, worried for what future will befall him. 

Jack Morrison, Commander of Blackwatch.

He still hated the position, of how Jack could no way fit the ideal commander for the covert ops. Still, seeing him now made him hate what Jack became. The look of calm on his face only hid the storm in his eyes. He shouldn't continue on like this. He wasn't fragile but this was _too much_ even for him. Though, Jack, being Jack, would always deny this, saying that he's fine and that he can handle it without his help. Of course Gabriel will always be by his side, that was without question, but there are times he worried about _what if he wasn't_. What if some unforeseen power pulled them apart again? Would Jack be okay without him? Jack as he was now was still a mess of a person, too broken and closed up for his own good, such a stark contrast to the optimistic golden boy he found. He was too cautious, too paranoid, and just too afraid. 

No man was an island. Even if he did have a ghost for a companion.

Gabriel shifted carefully from the bed, making sure not to wake him. He stuffed a pillow into Jack's arms, who grumbled but hugged the pillow tightly. The wraith walked around the quarters, grimacing after trailing a finger on the dresser, a fine coat of dust on the digit. He wasn't gone _that_ long. Come on Jack. 

But no, he'd been at it again: burying himself in missions that tore him apart inside so he didn't have to focus on the regret. A vicious cycle that only ended in him crashing for days at a time. 

Jack on the field was fine. Jack alone, especially in his mind, could function, for a while. And that was putting it politely.

The wraith returned to Jack, poking the man in the cheek. The blond scrunched up his features, cutely annoyed, before turning over. Concerned eyes examined him more closely, only to tell him what he already knew. He wasn't eating properly. His frame, though fit, couldn't hide the signs of hunger. He was paler than usual, cheeks ever faintly sunken. The dark rings obviously marked his lack of sleep. 

Gabriel frowned. If only he could be here all the time, _and maybe the infernal curse on both of them would finally be broken_. But none of that was going to happen. The burning sensation all over his body wouldn't disappear. It would only became stronger until it couldn't be ignored anymore. Hopefully, that day, Jack wouldn't be around to see it. 

Gabriel walked around the apartment, noting how nothing was changed. The place barely looked lived in as it was. Though, he was happy to spot some of McCree's little souvenirs on the mantle. Little knickknacks and framed postcards covered in messy scrawl, sat next to dusty pictures of the original strike team. At a single glance, he still regretted that picture. He was too obvious but it seemed like no one noticed the dark spot in the back. Admittedly, it wasn't exactly an accident, but he wanted just one picture of he and Jack together, so that was the closest he was gonna get.

Walking into the kitchen, the counters were clean and the sink was clear, with only one glass of water on the side. He opened the fridge to find bottles of water and a half empty bottle of vodka. _Great_. Nice one Jack. 

Do you even try any more? Actually, scratch that. He knew that answer already. 

Grumbling to himself, he sifted through the quarters a bit more, finding a rag and got to work. It wasn't overly clean but at least it'd smell less musty. He made a mental note to nag Jack more to take care of himself. (He was a grown ass man after all.) At least back before all the 'independent system' bullshit, Ana was there to nag him too. These days the organization held her time, as much as her daughter that ran through the halls. Something that was a happy sight to see.

Finding the work finished, the wraith misted back to Jack's room. Holding his mask in a clawed hand, he looked over the sleeping man fondly. The deep burning of his body was getting stronger. It'd been hours but it felt like he'd only been here a few minutes. Even after all this time, it pained him, not just to leave Jack alone again, but the carnal feel of his body rejecting its own existence in a sea of flames. (No wonder Jack calls him dramatic.) With a deep breath, he mumbled the incantation as he left. His body stopped burning instantly as he replaced his mask. His legs lost form, becoming a mere dark cloud as he stood. Small wisps of burning souls entered the view, each marking a mortals location. Gabriel blinked but continued to watch Jack rest. This was all he could do for now, but one day he'd be able to stay the night. And one day he'd be able to tell Jack about his true nature.


	4. The Mask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Shortly after Origins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Life and Mid-terms happened. I wanted to post something finished but so far I've only got this bit. ( ; - . -)  
> **This chapter might get updated in the future.
> 
> Now that things are a bit calmer, I'm excited to finally finish chapter 3. ( ' v ' )/

Maybe searching the limited data base that was loosely termed as the 'internet' was a bad idea, but here he was. Jack typed quickly, unable to help but look over his shoulder of the also loosely named 'library'. In all honesty, it was an old examination room that was never used and someone left a bunch of books in it. Most were medical encyclopedias and dictionaries but somehow new ones started to crop up: fantasy, fiction, non-fiction, and a ton of sci-fi. The terminals were rebooted on a group request and the 'library' was made. Data pads and tablets were fine but it still amazed him how paperbacks and few hardcovers still survived. Much of the once inked words has faded but were still legible.

Erin, the unofficial librarian, was sitting at his usual chair, with a novel missing its cover. Bern was besides him, in a similar state, but he noticed her eyes peek over the cover in curiosity. Jack shifted on the stool, trying to block the screen while trying to look as inconspicuous as possible (not working.) Another glance around didn't calm his nerves so he tried to just blot out the surroundings.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that the internet was heavily censored and delayed. The news they received were usually from officials or very late, very augmented news reports. At least they were blatant about the large black lines or very obvious missing sections of text. Being on lockdown within the facility was more than he anticipated. There was the yard, more of an illusion of being outside EOF anything, the training room, the simulation room, and a lot of other amenities at base but the idea of being stuck here for months at a time just felt odd. The stir crazy feeling was mutual among the soldiers. Some regretted their signed away freedom, but all accepted it. It was all they could do. At least, they had some freedoms.

Jack typed away, no sense in using the privacy tab (everything would be read and examined anyway.) He wondered what the search history would look like with keywords such as 'bone mask', 'wraith', 'ghost',or 'haunting'. Most ended up in old urban legends, crafts based on those urban legends, and fake exaggerates stories based on those urban legends (as well as copious amounts of porn, which was surprising to find allowed on the data base.) His searches soon dwindled down to forum posts and open chat boards before he finally stopped. So far there were articles of possession, the occult, and several ad-riddled websites for mediums. None of it was relevant to his newfound companion(?). 

Reaper was...What was-is he? He was an entity that confused and intrigued him at the same time. His imagination was more than he expected (much darker). None of the results even matched him, usually coming up with similar traits or appearance but never identifying him well enough. Most of those stories he'd never heard, making him wonder just where the snide wraith came from. Sure he accepted him as part of his imagination, but there was always something lingering in the back of his mind.

With an offhand thought, he wondered how this looked to the poor sap who had to sift through all the history whenever a terminal was used. Maybe they profiled the users and blacklisted them behind their backs. Jack wouldn't be surprised as he somewhat guiltily logged off Philips' profile. (It was his own fault for leaving it up.) 

'Find anything useful?' the stool clattered as Jack stood. Erin and Bern lowered their books to glare at him. He quickly gave an apology before righting the stool. He left as quickly and inconspicuously as he was at the terminal (not very) out into the hall. The door closed behind him but he continued for a while, only looking back to see that mask following him. Good thing the library was on the far end of the building.

"What is it?" Jack stared at the hooded figure leaning casually against the wall.

"Just checking up on you. So did you find anything?"

Did he sound genuinely curious?

"No," Jack rolled his eyes. Funny how Reaper wanted to hear something he knew already. He probably was sitting over his shoulder the whole time. "Why?"

"Just wondering."

Jack stared into the holes of that mask. There was this one article he found interesting...

"What are you thinking, Jack?" 

"So does that come off or is it like your face?"

Reaper stared at him,"What?"

Jack raised a brow and motioned to his own face, "Y'know this."

The wraith stood, bewildered,"What?"

"Do you have face or not? Or do you just look like that?" Jack finally sighed. Maybe this was a bad idea but there were some search results on demons with masks so he just wanted to touch base a bit. “I mean, it came off that one time right?”

Reaper tilted his head before giving a deep chuckle, “You really wanna know Jackie?” 

Oh great. The whole ‘misting’ thing was still fresh in his mind. As interesting as the ghost was, he didn’t really know what to expect from his apparently, very active imagination. Briefly he imagined the wraith removing the mask for an alien monstrosity of a mouth, or sharp insidious teeth fitted in a cruel smirk. That seemed like the archetype his psyche was going for, but all that came to mind was a cartoonish villain (which was also true). The thought made him smirk. 

“And just what’s so funny?” 

“You,” he replied bluntly. Maybe Reaper was more in line with his mind than he thought. Looking at the wraith now, he seemed more like a villain from the comics back home. 

The wraith bristled at the comment, “Excuse me?”

“Nothing,” Jack waved off and continued down the hall.


	5. And The Hangover Was Not Worth It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During Origins, a time before the enhancements were complete but Jack already met Reaper.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm still working on Final Strike but haven't been able to get the chapter right. :/
> 
> I wanted to post something thought and this has been sitting around for a bit. Just cleaned it up a bit. Enjoy.

Jack stretched as he walked, trying to work out the knot in his shoulder. His arm still felt numb, a limp weight at his side as he kept tightening a fist to get some kind of feeling out of it. The needle points stung still, but getting some motion in them made it feel marginally better.

"Yo, Morrison," Phillips spied him with a smirk.

"I'm not involved," he retorted, trying to walk past the man.

"You don't even know what I was going to say."

"I know what it's not."

"I highly doubt it."

Jack turned on his heel,"It's probably not 'Hey Morrison, let's have a book club meeting before lights out' now is it?"

Phillips snorted,"Surprise, it is. Come on, it's gonna be great."

Jack furrowed a brow as Phillips wrapped an arm over his shoulder. 

"I still don't want to be involved," he shoved the man, but he didn't relent.

"Come on. Neilman bet me you wouldn't come and I don't wanna lose."

It wasn't like he was doing much after this anyway, but getting involved with Phillips wasn't the best idea. Before Jack could say no, he felt a gust of cold air hit him. Was Reaper watching him? The other man still smirked at him, pleading for him to go. Jack turned and kept walking, Philips following in stride.

"What kind of book club is this?" 

"Good choice, Morrison," Philips clasped him on the back, victory on his mind. "Nothing bad. Kite wanted to do a Bible study to remind us of home."

"Since when is Kite religious?" they turned the corner towards the makeshift library.

"Oh, she's _very_ religious."

Jack eyed him leerily. Unlike usual, the library door was closed. Phillips looked around before knocking. 

Once. Twice. 

Pause. 

A slide of the hand. 

And once again.

Behind them, someone snorted in amusement. Jack turned to see nothing. The door opened a crack. The eyes behind it stared at him wearily.

"It's just me and Morrison. He's cool," Philips put a hand on his shoulder.

The door opened for a shorter man, looking a bit younger than Jack. He stepped aside with a stern look as he and Philips passed. The door closed behind them but Jack had to take a second look before it closed. 

Nothing, but it didn't feel like nothing.

Erin and Bern no where to be found. Most of the books had been put away on the very empty shelves and the terminals remained silent. Some more chairs had been pulled in from somewhere, most of them occupied.

"Well shit," Neilman left his perch against the wall. "Didn't think you'd convince Golden Boy to come."

Jack furrowed a brow at the name.

"You are, Morrison. Don't deny it," Phillips joked.

"I'm not golden," was his only retort as Neilman sat him in the half circle of chairs. Kite greeted him with confusion before sneering.

"Can't wait to see this one," she muttered. "Hey Tullen, where's Castillo?"

The guy at the door replied, "She didn't feel good. Needles fucked her up."

He joined them, pulling up the last chair and straddling it. He smiled before holding out a hand to Jack, "Josh Tullen."

"Jack Morrison," he shook the hand.

Philips leaned against the shelf and clapped his hands,"So Kite, tells us the good word."

"Someone's too eager," Kite smiled as she grabbed a heavy tome from behind a shelf, a Bible given the cross on it, "And the word is good today."

"Can't help but be eager with the good book."

She rolled her eyes and took the book in hand, "Today the Lord blessed us with a bounty."

She opened the book to the middle, revealing an ornate glass bottle. 

Tullen whistled next to him,"And just how did you manage to get this one in?"

"Some favors here and there," Kite took the decanter, placing it gently on the table.

"She stole it from the officer's lounge," Philips quipped, trying to take the bottle.

"Not your turn and no. I didn't," she slapped his hand and looked at the group. "And you know the rules."

Then her eyes stopped on Jack, "Since he's new, Morrison gets to go first."

"What?" 

"Unless your too good to play with us," Philips smirked.

"No, I'll go first," Jack glared at the man.

"Okay, Morrison. Take a drink after every turn. If you can't or won't do it, take another drink. Truth or dare?"

Oh. This wasn't as bad as he thought.

"Dare," he leaned back in his seat. 

Tullen scoffed,"Come on Kite, go easy on him. It's his first game."

"He made his choice," Kite held the bottle. "But fine. I dare you to strip to your briefs."

Neilman groaned, "Now you're just too soft on him."

"Gotta have someone nicer to look at than you losers," Kite glanced at them distastefully as Philips gave an exaggerated gasp.

"It's fine," Jack stood, starting with his shoes. Philips muttered something about him being predictable before barely dodging his one shoe. Socks followed, as did his regulation shirt.

"Damn, guess the juice really does work," Neilman smirked, " used to be smaller than Tullen."

"I'm not that small," Tullen said defensively.

Jack undid his belt, starting to feel a bit more self-conscious. He was used to the showers, the locker rooms, and just having to change in the same room with others but having eyes, so many eyes, focused on him felt...Embarrassing. His hands started to slow on his belt as he felt his face heat in both embarrassment and anger for his blush. With belt loops undone, he slid his pants off and folded them over the chair. He stood in his boxers trying to focus on the draft in the room rather than the many pairs of eyes watching him now.

"And I am not disappointed," Kite handed him the decanter cheerfully.

"No glasses?" Jack took off the top, grimacing at the strong smell.

"If we had'em, we'd use'em. Just throw it back," she prompted.

With a shrug, he did as she said, flinching as he tasted the rush of alcohol burning down his throat. 

"Told ya, he's cool," Phillips remarked. "And Rob bet me his share, so I'm taking it."

Capping the bottle again, Jack passed it back to Kite and sat down.

"We have training tomorrow," Jack's voice was a bit horse, the searing aftertaste still on his tongue.

"And?" Phillips took the bottle from Kite. "Listen, patches suck. They're in no way the fucking same. I need this."

"Jack, you get to do it," Kite prompted.

"Uh, truth or dare?"

"Truth and I'm not going to answer. So give me two," Philips uncapped the decanter and drank from it liberally before being stopped by Kite.

"Fucking shit, I haven't even tasted it yet," she got the bottle from Philips who merely wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"And it is good shit," was his only reply.

The game continued to rotate around, mostly on dares. They ranged from little things, like back flips or handstands, to competitions like arm wrestling, which Neilman won all of, and actual wrestling, which was banned after the fourth round broke a chair. The decanter drained as they went on, especially when Philips opted for two drinks rather than one. Kite was right behind him, always pulling the short straw against Neilman or refusing to take her shirt off (much to Neilmans' and Phillips' complaints.) Once the glass bottle was three quarters empty did they call it a night.

"These fucking assholes," Neilman muttered, words slightly slurred while half carrying a passed out Phillips. Jack followed behind with Kite on his back. He felt warm and oddly euphoric for walking a fine line of being caught and getting into trouble. This might not get them kicked out of the program, but they'd be given hell of 'producing outside variables'. 

Tullen, the more sober of the bunch, scouted ahead with a idiotic grin on his face. They tread through the dark hallways quickly, heading for Castillo's room first. Castillo was not happy with being woken up to take care of Kite. She muttered curses as Jack set the woman down on the bed. Tullen made his way on his own and Neilman already promised to care for Phillips' dumb ass, leaving Jack to scurry back to his room. It was a surprise that he didn't run into anyone.

The door closed behind him and he felt positively giddy. He wasn't even tired, but tried to sleep anyway. The alcohol did its work, making him feel warm. Too warm actually. His shirt went off the bed, as did the blankets. After tossing and turning, he flicked on the low lights and headed for the bathroom. While leaving, he stopped in the mirror, seeing something, no someone. A mask?

Turning around, there as nothing. Another glance at the mirror revealed no sight either, but Jack knew better.

"You there?" he called out.

No response.

He said he'd always be there, right?

"Hey, Reaper, come on out" maybe it was the liquor talking. "I know you're there."

No response.

With a shrug, Jack walked back into his room-bumping into something solid. 

"You called?" the bone mask looked at him, voice laced with interest.

Jack stared at him lazily, his body sluggish, but he felt good. He didn't feel crazy right now. Casually, he reached up, taking the edge of the mask in his hand.

"Can you take this off?" he tried to pull but his wrist was caught in a claw.

"You're drunk."

"I'm tipsy," Jack replied, removing his hand.

"No, drunk," Reaper misted around him, making Jack turn. Jesus, he felt dizzy just from that. Maybe he was drunk.

" _Well you're not real_ ," he remarked, balancing himself against the wall to walk back towards the bed.

"Jack," the wraith followed him.

"What?" 

"You're drunk."

He giggled,"I know."

"You know you're drunk."

"Yeah, I do," in surprising quickness, he turned again, aiming for that mask but whiffing it.

"Stop that."

"Just what are you hiding?" the wraith evaded him easily. His world was tilting, making him nauseous but Jack didn't relent. He just grabbed on to one of the many belts instead. He grunted in surprise, feeling the solid body collide with his own. No shells today thankfully, but was this Kevlar?

Reaper settled his claws on Jack's shoulders, attempting to steady him. The blond didn't let go of the belts, blearily focused on the buckles. 

Blue eyes sparked with challenge, "Truth or dare?"

The mask tilted curiously, " Jack, you should go to bed."

"Just play a couple and I'll go," he tugged on the straps. The wraith sighed.

"Fine. Dare."

"I dare you to take your mask off."

"No."

That was expected.

"But you have to," he still whined.

"Pick something else."

Jack thought for a moment, "I dare you to tell me why you promised."

"Isn't that the same as Truth?"

"Don't avoid the question and I'm 'daring' you to tell me."

"Because I wanted to."

"That's not an answer," Jack gripped the belts, tugging on them in frustration.

"That's all I'm giving. Truth or Dare?"

Blue eyes met the mask.

"I get a turn too. So what is it?"

"You already know too much about me so, dare?"

The wraith hummed, "Go the fuck to bed."

"No."

"Jack, don't be a brat."

"Fine," Jack tugged on the belts, surprised to be pulling the wraith with him, who was actually sturdier than he looked. Still, Reaper followed him to the bed.

"Truth or dare?" he sat on the mattress, feeling the belts mist out of his hold. He glared defiantly at the mask.

"Dare."

"Sit with me."

The wraith stared at him for a moment, as Jack just gave him a lopsided smile. He complied, the mattress sinking under his weight.

"Truth or Dare?"

"How about truth?"

He paused at that one, "Are you scared of me?"

Jack laughed, "Like a comic book villain. I've raised chickens scarier than you."

Reaper scoffed, "You're such a farmboy."

"Born and raised," he quipped, placing a hand over a claw. He felt so real.

The wraith glanced down at their hands.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Dare."

"I dare you to turn this way."

The wraith tilted his head.

"Yeah, come on."

With a roll of the shoulders, he turned from Jack, giving him just the right opening. 

Reaper didn't react to getting pushed over. Jack straddled him, pinning his arms down with one hand whole the other felt under the tip of the mask.

"Really Jack?"

"I just want a peek," he tried to feel for the edge but couldn't find it. Maybe it was his face?

The wraith gave a small laugh as he disappeared. The mattress creaked as Jack fell onto it, searching for the black mist.

"Fine," Reaper appeared in front of him. "Just a peek. But then we're done."

"Deal," he tried to stand but a hand pushed him to sit down.

The wraith leaned down, "Keep your hands to yourself."

Jack nodded as he watched a clawed hand reached for the mask. He didn't noticed how close they had become, or how close they were becoming. When he blinked, the mask was gone. For a brief moment, he thought he saw gleaming eyes shine in the darkness but he was too distracted. Cold lips found his, locked together in a shallow kiss. He tried to get a good look but a hand covered his eyes. He tried to pull that hand away but his arm was pushed away.

The kiss was shallow, but made him flush. The feel was familiar, and all that was missing was the cold rush of water between them. Assured that he wouldn't reach up again, he felt the sharp edge of a claw run along his arm, making his shiver. Reaper laughed at that, tracing the seam of his lips with his tongue. The surprise of cold fingertips running along his chest made him gasp, opening his mouth to the wraith's assault. In contrast to those lips, the inside of that mouth was warm, burning even, more than a regular person. He sighed in the kiss, feeling another hand cradle the back of his head. 

When they parted, he still leaned forward, not ready to let go. His vision restored, Jack pouted at the sight of those smirking lips, as the wraith replaced his mask.

" _Bello_ ," he muttered, cradling his cheek in a cold hand. It felt nice against his flustered skin.

"Cheater," he spat.

"Hope you got a good look," dark mist started to rise from the wraith as his outline blurred. Maybe it was the low lighting that told him that the figure faded until there was nothing left. Nonetheless, Jack found himself alone, lingering on the touch of cold lips.


End file.
